


The One

by goldenwingsgirl



Category: Supernatural
Genre: But also a happy one, Castiel is a Winchester (Supernatural), Castiel/Dean Winchester First Time Having Sex, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, Sacrifice, Smut, Soldier Castiel, Soldier Dean Winchester, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, Tragedy, War, this is a sad story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:41:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22244257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldenwingsgirl/pseuds/goldenwingsgirl
Summary: “You’re family, too, Cas. You’re my best friend… more than that… and I want you to know that, as soon as we make it out of here, you’ll come back with me; home. You’re gonna live with Sam and Jess and the two of you will laugh over some stupid intelligent joke Sammy just told and tease me about embarrassing childhood memories, while Jess and I stick together and make plans to prank you.” Castiel laughs happily and watches as Dean tries to keep the tears from falling.‘You’re my best friend… more than that…’. ‘You’ll come home with me…’These seemingly harmless sentences lie heavy in Castiel’s chest, quickening his heart rate and threatening to crush him.“Oh, and when their child is born, we’ll spoil it like our own and I’ll be the favorite, way cooler uncle…of course.”Castiel smiles brightly. “Of course.”
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Jessica Moore/Sam Winchester
Comments: 20
Kudos: 94





	The One

* * *

Castiel loves Dean Winchester, that much is clear. Even though he tries not to be that obvious about it.

He’s loved the younger, energetic, sarcastic and cocky – if not self-confident – man for quite some time now.

No one knows, though, and those who do, don’t care that much about it. Not that they don’t care about them in general, it’s just that they don’t care that Dean and he are both men. Which he’s extremely thankful for – not everyone is lucky enough to have such tolerant people around, even if those people are fellow soldiers.

They are resting now – have been for three days – before they have to be at the front again. And Castiel tried to enjoy those rare peaceful and quiet moments before all there is going to be is death and destruction, tried to spend those few days with his friend – _love_ – Dean and laugh and joke and tease, but the Winchester seems to have other plans.

The first two nights, Castiel found Dean drinking an unhealthy amount of alcohol, the third, tonight, he found the man fucking some local women while being obviously drunk. It is nothing new to Castiel – who is currently sitting at a table, surrounded by noisy comrades throwing jokes at each other – that he found Dean drinking and having sex; it’s what he usually does. It’s just the way Dean is doing it that is different now, that makes Castiel wonder if something might have happened.

Dean is usually a sloppy-happy-touchy-feely drunk – even though he keeps denying it – but since they’ve been here, Castiel got to observe the broken drunk. The one that doesn’t laugh at every joke even though it wasn’t funny in the least, the one that doesn’t flirt with whoever he talks to every waking minute and turns every statement into a sarcastic retort. No; the one that seems to only bear keeping eye contact for a millisecond, before ducking his head and ignoring everyone around; the one that doesn’t get a word past his lips and seems to have lost his voice or any interest in speaking to his friends, like they don’t even matter to him.

Castiel decides that he hates that version of his friend.

He stands from his seat and informs his comrades that he’ll head into bed early and leaves the hall, walking back toward their bed camps. He avoids taking the same route he did on his way to the others in order to avoid Dean and whatever woman he was currently fucking in one of the abandoned buildings and hurries to get to sleep.

That night, he dreams of coming home from war with Dean, a beautiful brunette in the younger man’s arms and an irresistible smile gracing his features.

____

They are gathered around a huge screen, waiting for the movie to start, with snacks in their hands. This is a luxury. And they are all more than happy to spend their last night in peace like that… well, everyone except for Dean.

The Winchester sits alone in a dark corner, far away from his usual group; Benny, Garth and Ash. And also far away from the one he kept spending all his spare time with; Castiel.

To say he is confused is an understatement; Castiel is worried sick about Dean. So he doesn’t even think about staying when he gets up to follow Dean out of the hut as soon as the younger man left the makeshift cinema. The bright oranges of the setting sun allow Castiel to see where Dean is going and he just trails after his shadow until they are in an abandoned house. He searches the rooms for him and finds the younger man hunched over a bed, his frame illuminated by the warm shades of the evening sun.

Dean is dressed in his typical uniform and his hair is longer than it was a year ago but just as spiky; cut short at the sides and parted half on the left side, half on top of his head. He looks good like that.

After a moment, Castiel allows himself to look at his face a bit closer and is surprised to see tear tracks that are glistening in the light coming from the window. And only then does he notice that his shoulders are shaking ever so slightly. He is crying.

At least that is until Dean notices his presence and lifts his head to meet his worried gaze. “Dean?” His voice is rough and almost too loud in the silence of their surroundings.

A croaked out “Cas,” is all he gets as an acknowledgment of his presence in the room before Dean lowers his head again and remains silent as if he wasn’t just caught crying in a deserted house. _Dean Winchester crying!_

“What’s wrong? You’ve been acting strange lately.” He sits down next to Dean on the bed and places his hand on his friend’s shoulder, reassuringly.

Dean hides in his hands and runs his palms down his face, scrubbing at his eyes and sniffing once, before meeting his eyes again and saying: “I’m fine, Cas.” Which is so obviously a lie that Castiel has to stop himself from snorting in disapproval. “Why are you here?”

“I was worried about you.”

“You always are.”

There is a tiny smile on Dean’s lips that gives Castiel hope and the confidence to say the next: “It’s because you’re a reckless idiot and I care too much about you to lose you over something stupid I could’ve prevented.” He bumps his shoulder against Dean teasingly, who snorts in amusement; his smile widening.

“I forgot: you’re the smart guy.”

“Indeed. I’m the ‘guy’ that gives you very wise advice that you should follow.”

“You mean some smart-ass retorts that are stupid and boring.” Castiel nods and Dean grins. “You know, using air-quotes makes you look like a total dork, by the way.”

“Yes, I am aware, but you know you love it nonetheless.”

Dean doesn’t respond to that, but the heavy blush creeping up his neck, face and ears, are all Castiel needs as an answer. They spend a moment in comfortable silence, just staring at each other as they so often do until Dean breaks it with his next question.

“Did you mean it?” His voice comes out quiet and gravely, and he has his eyes trained on his hands in his lap, fiddling with some loose strands of his trousers. Castiel doesn’t have to ask what he was talking about, he just knows.

“Every word. Especially the ‘reckless idiot’ part, but also the one where I said that I care a great deal about you.” Dean looks up at him with hopeful eyes. “You’re my family, Dean. I’ve never had a friend in my life… I’m so glad to have you. And you mean so much to me.”

When he locks his gaze with Dean once more, the man’s eyes are glassy all over again; an unreadable expression on his face. After a moment, Dean’s eyes soften and he smiles warmly. “You’re family, too, Cas. You’re my best friend… more than that… and I want you to know that, as soon as we make it out of here, you’ll come back with me; home. You’re gonna live with Sam and Jess and the two of you will laugh over some stupid intelligent joke Sammy just told and tease me about embarrassing childhood memories, while Jess and I stick together and make plans to prank you.” Castiel laughs happily and watches as Dean tries to keep the tears from falling.

 _‘You’re my best friend… more than that…’. ‘You’ll come home with me…’_ These seemingly harmless sentences lie heavy in Castiel’s chest, quickening his heart rate and threatening to crush him.

“ _Oh_ , and when their child is born, we’ll spoil it like our own and I’ll be the favorite, way cooler uncle… _of course._ ”

Castiel smiles brightly. “Of course.”

Then Dean shifts slightly to the side, facing Castiel properly. “You know you’ll always be welcome in our home. You’re family and that means you’re a Winchester, and Winchesters get to live in our house. No matter what.”

The unspoken _‘even if I die’_ causes a lump in Castiel’s throat so big, it’s starting to choke him. He manages a shaky “thank you, Dean,” and stops a tear from spilling. “We are going to make it out alive, Dean. _You_ ’re going to make it out alive. You’re the strongest man I know.”

He watches as Dean tries to smile somewhat reassuringly, but it crumbles and he ends up looking more sad and tired of the world than Castiel has ever seen. It hurts too much to bear and he has to get up and put some space between them. Looking at everything but Dean, Castiel asks: “do you wish for anything else? Should I tell Benny to come here… or do you…” he loses his train of thought and lets his eyes take in Dean’s form for a second, then starts to walk towards the door.

“Thanks, Cas, I’m fine.”

Castiel doesn’t look back, just nods and opens the door with a loud creak. He is about to exit the room when he hears Dean calling out to him.

“Cas?”

The all-too-familiar shortened version of his name stops Castiel in his tracks and he turns around only to be face to face with Dean, who extends a hand tentatively and meets his eyes, waiting for permission to touch him. When Castiel just stares at him, Dean takes it as a yes and cups Castiel’s cheek with his right hand, thumb stroking his skin ever so slightly. He doesn’t even realize that he leans into the touch, seeking Dean’s warmth, and closes the space between them until his lips brush against Dean’s soft and plush ones in a barely-there kiss. The moment he does realize, though, his eyes widen and his lips part in shock and Castiel is about to take a step back when Dean seals his lips with his own and starts kissing him senseless.

At first, he can feel that the younger man is holding back, testing the waters and waiting for Castiel to pull away, but when that doesn’t happen, Dean begins to kiss him in earnest. He parts his lips and angles his head to have better access to Castiel’s mouth, and Castiel sees this as his opportunity to plunge his tongue past his teeth and lick inside his hot wetness. A moan escapes him at the earthy sweet taste of Dean, and then their tongues meet in a wet and filthy slide and Castiel’s knees go weak. He throws his arms around Dean’s neck and lines up their bodies; every part of them touching.

After a while, Dean frees himself from Castiel’s needy grip around him and breaks the kiss to pant for air; their foreheads touching and their breaths mingling.

Then blue meets green and an intense heat starts to bloom in his gut and all he wants to do is throw his arms around Dean and never let go again. “I do have a wish, Cas.” He waits until Castiel tilts his head faintly, as he always does, and adds: “I wish for you to be inside me.”

It was a whisper and Dean’s hot breath caressed his cheek in a seductive way that has Castiel opening and closing his mouth like a fish. He is at a lack of words and all he can do is blink at Dean.

“I want you inside me, Cas. Make love to me…”

Castiel’s pulse quickens dramatically and he starts breathing way too fast. “You do?” He is an idiot when it comes to three things: expressing his feelings, knowing what to do when he is about to have sex with someone and coping with an extreme amount of happiness. So, unfortunately, this situation requires him to be good at all three at the same time. One could say Castiel is too overwhelmed to wrap his mind around Dean’s proposal, let alone his choice of words.

_‘Make love to me…’_

Dean never says such things. He thinks it is too chick-flick to say anything like that. The Winchester always calls it fucking; sometimes he calls it sex – only if he talks about past experiences that weren’t of his taste – but it’s always just that: a quick fuck. No feelings, no strings attached. He says it himself; Dean is the _love ‘em and leave ‘em_ type of person… just instead of ‘love’, it’s a ‘fuck’.

So hearing Dean say something like that, something so little yet so huge, so important… yeah, it has Castiel at a complete loss of words.

“Yeah…” Dean takes him by the hand, fingers twining, and walks him back toward the bed. Castiel stares at him, mouth still agape, heart in his throat, as Dean ducks his head, flustered, and the blush turns his skin into a deep red. It makes his freckles stand out even more and Castiel thinks he’s never seen anything more heart-whelming than that. “Just…” Dean rubs his neck nervously, almost shyly, and then meets his intense gaze. “Go slow with me?”

All Castiel manages is a nod of his head as he takes a step forward and flattens his hands over the dark and robust fabrics of Dean’s uniform, right above his pectoral muscles. And for a moment, Castiel just stands there and takes in the rhythmic rise and fall of Dean’s chest and the sound of his shallow breathing. Then, he grips the zipper of the upper part of Dean’s uniform and opens his jacket, pushing it over his shoulders and down his arms to slide it off of him while his fingers travel over the miles of skin on the Winchester’s arms.

Dean’s eyes follow every move he makes and Castiel tries to savor every moment of it, tries to save every patch of skin and every physical reaction he gets for touching those parts into his memories. Castiel is extra slow when he snakes his hands underneath his white undershirt and glides them upward over the plains and valleys of Dean’s torso, taking in his defined abs and stopping at his nipples to circle his thumbs around the perky buds, which elicits a small gasping sound from Dean. Castiel smiles when the younger man bites his lower lip to stifle a whimper as he twists and pinches Dean’s obviously sensitive nipples.

Then Castiel takes off Dean’s shirt over his head and throws it on top of the jacket next to their feet, stopping to admire Dean’s lean and muscled upper body and taking his dog tag between two fingers to look at the warm metal a bit closer.

> _WINCHESTER,_
> 
> _DEAN_
> 
> _678-12-0432_
> 
> _B POS_
> 
> _NONE_

He lets the metal fall back against Dean’s skin and traces his fingertip down the man’s torso until he reaches the waistband of his trousers, then fiddles with the fly and unzips his pants, tugging on the fabric to pull them down Dean’s beautifully bowed legs. When they pool around the younger man’s ankles, Castiel crouches down and unlaces his combat boots just as slowly. After he finally takes off Dean’s footwear and socks, Castiel lifts his feet, one after the other, to also slide off his trousers completely.

Not wanting to keep Dean waiting, Castiel hastily frees himself from all clothes and practically tears apart his jacket and shirt, ripping down his pants and kicking off his boots and socks, pulling down his boxer shorts.

With a careful hand on his chest, Castiel guides Dean back onto the bed and positions him on the mattress, making sure he’s comfortable, and then hooks his fingers underneath the elastic waistband of his shorts. Before pushing them off, he searches Dean’s face for any indication of discomfort or defiance, but as soon as Castiel sees that there is absolutely none, he takes off the last piece of cloth that stands between him and Dean and adds it to the pile of clothes near the bed.

He has his hands on Dean’s thighs and hovers above him on his knees, eyes raking the Winchester’s stunning frame – naked and still beneath him; only for him. Castiel notices that Dean tries to not squirm under his scrutiny and he is astounded by the sight. Dean’s most intimate, sensitive and vulnerable parts – everything – is laid bare before Castiel’s eyes. “God… you’re beautiful.”

His skin glows beautifully in the orange, almost reddish, lights of the late evening. It’s pale – hasn’t seen the sun in years – and freckles adorn the places that would be tan, would Dean have the chance to sunbathe; his shoulders, arms, and a few brownish specks even found their place on his chest, thighs and pelvis. And now his skin is flushing deeply and Dean scoffs at the compliment, but Castiel ignores his self-loathing side and decides to show the man how ridiculously stunning he finds he is by covering his skin with soft kisses.

He starts at his collarbones, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses along his torso, dipping the tip of his tongue into the hollow of his navel and sucking on Dean’s soft skin on his way down to the younger man’s pelvis. Castiel smooches the skin there, his chin scratching the tender skin at Dean’s pubic bone. But before he takes it a step further, Castiel rests his hands on either side of Dean’s hips and asks: “Have you done this before?” The Winchester just shakes his head, honestly, and waits for Castiel to continue – who is more than baffled to learn that he is honored to be Dean’s first time with a man; to be the first to touch him like that, to bring him pleasure like _that_. “We don’t have any lubricant or protection and hurting you is the least I want to do…”

It takes some time for Dean to understand what Castiel is trying to say, and when he gets it, the younger man just smiles a shy smile and reassures: “You’re not going to hurt me. And I don’t care about protection with you; I trust you.”

Castiel just nods and makes a mental note to be extra careful and slow when it comes to opening Dean up. For now, he merely resumes worshipping Dean’s body; leaving a trail of wet kisses along the length of his hardening cock, pressing one to the head where a bead of pre-come has gathered, and then pinning the hard flesh to Dean’s pelvis to also kiss the sensitive underside of his shaft, pressing his tongue flat against the protruding vein there, at which Dean lets out a guttural moan.

Feeling encouraged by Dean’s wonderful physical reactions to his efforts, Castiel makes Dean lift his hips off the mattress and licks a stripe across his balls, then sucking one into his mouth until Dean is writhing with ecstasy and mirrors this action with the other. With a curious expression and a small smile on his face, Castiel rights himself between Dean’s legs and gazes at the man before him. “Turn around, Dean.”

Doing what he is told, Dean obediently scrambles to turn around and pushes his hips up into the air, extending his ass just the way Castiel wants it. While on his hands and knees, Castiel can see the way Dean’s body trembles with a mix of anticipation and anxiety. “I’m not going to hurt you, Dean, and I’m not going to do anything you don’t want me to… but I think you’ll like this one.”

It is the only warning Castiel gives him before spreading his round and firm asscheeks and licking along the groove of his cleft, over his hole and further down his perineum until his tongue hits Dean’s scrotum once more – which elicits the most wonderful sounds out of Dean. Next, Castiel laves his tongue over the tight bundle of muscles of Dean’s rosy hole and relishes the way he groans in alien pleasure. After a moment, Castiel circles the tip of his tongue around the flesh, willing Dean to relax and his muscles to give naturally without any force. It takes its time but after a while, Dean’s hole is loose enough for Castiel to spear his tongue and push it past the tight ring of muscles, moaning at the way Dean groans and writhes and tries to unconsciously expel him by clenching down around his tongue. It only takes a few seconds before Dean relaxes again and Castiel hums in contentment, starting to lick inside Dean, at first cautiously, getting the younger man used to the feel of it, and then with abandon, coaxing down-right filthy noises out of Dean.

By the time his face is buried in Dean’s ass, his tongue as deep inside the man as possible and Dean is whimpering from the scratch of his scruff against his sensitive perineum, Castiel reaches one arm around Dean and pushes three fingers inside his mouth. The Winchester gets with the program in no time and starts slicking up Castiel’s digits with his saliva, licking between them and coating them with spit. And when Castiel thinks he’s done a good enough job, he pulls them back out and carefully inserts one along with his tongue, working his strong muscle in tandem with his finger to open Dean up and stretch him.

He adds another finger not long after that, and then a third one a few minutes later, scissoring Dean open and tapping his prostate occasionally to keep him squirming and grunting. When he finally pulls out his digits and withdraws his face, Castiel can see that Dean is practically dripping and grabs him by the hips to turn him back around.

Dean’s skin is flushed, covered by a thin sheen of sweat, and he’s panting slightly, looking almost entirely wrecked. It’s a beautiful sight and Castiel lets himself bask in the sleepy, half-lidded gaze that Dean focuses on him and the content tiny quirk of one corner of his mouth, the crinkles around his eyes.

It’s in this particular moment, that Castiel realizes just how much he loves Dean. He never wants to miss this expression ever again. And he never wants to miss any of the sounds Dean makes out of pleasure again, just as much as he never wants to miss his laugh or the almost ethereal golden sparkle of his moss-green eyes when he does so.

He’s ripped out of his reverie and brought back to reality, when Dean suddenly flips him onto his back and straddles his legs, leaning down with a shy smile and taking Castiel in hand. He lets out a loud moan at the firm grip with which Dean lines up his cock with his mouth, parting his lips and locking eyes with Castiel to make sure that this is okay. All he does is nod his consent, trying not to lose his mind at the way Dean stares up at him through his thick, long lashes.

Then a tentative and experimental flick of tongue makes Castiel thud his head back onto the mattress and close his eyes in pleasure. He feels Dean’s tongue licking along the length of his cock, then swirling around the head and its tip poking into his slit, making him yelp with unexpected delight.

A moment later, his head is engulfed by hot wetness and suction that is undoing him, all the while Dean swirls his tongue around it, slicking it up. Slowly, Dean begins to lower his head onto Castiel, taking more and more of him into his mouth and coating his cock with his saliva. Castiel has to clench the old bedsheets in his hands to stop himself from pounding Dean’s mouth – since it’s his first time with a man, he has to be good with him to avoid shying him away, ruining his experience. When he pulls off, it is done with a wet plopping sound and Castiel’s cock slaps against his belly lazily.

The cold shock of the air against his wet skin is enough to get Castiel into action again, and he lies Dean back down, nestling himself between his thighs. He rests a hand on Dean’s side, stroking his flank soothingly, and grips his cock with the other, aligning himself with Dean. With his blunt head against Dean’s puffy and loose hole, Castiel breathes out: “Try to relax now. Don’t try to fight it and it won’t hurt as much.”

Dean nods eagerly, watching with heavy-lidded eyes as Castiel begins to press forward and inside as carefully as possible, slowly pushing the head past his rim. Dean tries really hard to relax, Castiel knows, but he’s still unconsciously fighting against the intrusion and Castiel just can’t have that; can’t hurt Dean. He stops and strokes Dean’s side again, watching him hold his breath and waiting for him to meet his eyes. When Dean does, Castiel soothes: “shhh, Dean, you have to keep breathing. In… and out.” Dean exhales shakily and takes a deep breath, and Castiel feels the younger man relax around him. “Yes, just like that. Breathe. Concentrate on your breathing and I will do the rest, okay?”

Exhaling slowly, Dean nods his understanding and closes his eyes, breathing in and out at a steady pace. “Perfect.” Then Castiel resumes pushing inside and is relieved when his head pops in without any further resistance, although Dean starts clenching down around him the second he halts to let him adjust to the feeling. Castiel holds on to the thin threads that keep him from losing control and thrusting inside the rest of the way and start pounding Dean in earnest.

When Dean hooks his ankles behind Castiel and starts pressing him forward, he takes it as his cue to keep moving and slowly pushes inside the rest of the way until he’s bottoming out, buried to the hilt inside Dean, whose eyes are screwed shut, mouth agape; tiny, low moans of pleasure escaping his chest. His skin feels hot where it meets Castiel’s snugly and he can’t bring himself to stop moaning at the way Dean works him over; his walls clenching down around him, taking in his size and the texture of his bare skin surrounded by his own velvety one.

Before he starts moving, Castiel reaches out both of his hands and searches for Dean’s, lacing their fingers and holding on tight as they find each other. Castiel is propped up on his elbows partly, and he leans forward, tipping his head down, to capture Dean’s lips in a passionate kiss while simultaneously starting to pull out until only the head of his cock is inside and thrust back in just as cautiously.

They find their pace; Castiel pulling out and driving back inside in a steady rhythm, Dean meeting every single one of his thrusts with his hips, groaning each time the angle allows Castiel to hit his prostate just right. It is slow, loving and intimate and such a raw and emotional moment, that Castiel thinks he might burst with all the intense feelings quelling his heart. He can feel Dean’s love, his trust, his faith in him, _everything_. It’s almost too much. This truly is ‘making love’.

And then Castiel leaves Dean’s mouth, panting for air, and rests his forehead against the younger man’s cheek and feels a familiar wetness: Dean is crying again. He knows in an instant that this is too much for Dean – overwhelming him – and that he doesn’t know what to think or feel or do; Castiel doesn’t know himself right now.

Dean never saw sex as a means to communicate, to show the partner how he felt throughout it; he always used it to have some fun time, a warm body to keep him comfortable or just a bed to crash on – he’s told Castiel as much. And surely, if Castiel can feel all of Dean, all his emotions, then Dean is receiving the full _‘I love you. I can’t picture my life without you, wouldn’t know how to live in a world with you not in it. You’re my everything’_ broadcast.

He knows what Dean needs and he plans on giving it to him, so Castiel speeds up his pace and takes Dean in long, rapid and sharp thrusts instead of languid and measured ones, punching grunts and breathy moans out of the Winchester. He is nailing Dean’s prostate with every thrust now, bringing him close to the edge and keeping his mind from wandering to whatever thoughts he got caught into in the first place.

While he keeps pounding into Dean with abandon, Castiel takes a minute to savor the way the younger man’s pliable and responsive body bends, how his muscles spasm and relax and his lust-depraved expression turns into a fully blissful one every time Castiel hits home. It’s breathtaking and the best thing that ever happened to Castiel. “So perfect, Dean,” he grunts between thrusts, “you’re so perfect for me.”

“Cas I’m gonna–” His words get cut off by a low, guttural moan as Castiel wracked his body with a particularly hard thrust. “...so close…”

Castiel smiles fondly – if not triumphantly – at Dean’s totally fucked-out and breathless voice. “Shhh, I’ve got you.” He snakes his arms underneath Dean and wraps them around his frame, pulling him against his chest and lifting his back off the mattress as he shifts below Dean so that they end up in an upright sitting position; Dean straddling Castiel’s outstretched legs, ankles still hooked behind his back and arms clinging to Castiel’s frame in a desperate attempt to keep himself from shaking apart.

Still moving, thrusting into Dean and keeping him stimulated, Castiel rests one hand at the back of Dean’s neck, fingertips buried in the short hair at his nape, and the other stroking his back soothingly along his spine while whispering sweet nothings into his ear. “I’ve got you, Dean. Let go.”

As on command, Dean throws his head back and parts his lips, letting himself fall over the edge. And while Dean’s body goes completely rigid, Castiel leans forward and kisses him again, tongue seeking his unique taste and stifling the yell that tries to slip past as his muscles spasm and he comes between the two of them, covering both their stomachs in hot, white semen. He clenches violently around Castiel and when he frees his mouth again, Dean just slumps forward against Castiel’s chest, rests his head on his shoulder and goes completely boneless.

With an admiring expression, Castiel keeps moving, holding Dean tightly against his body and kissing the top of his head; burying his nose in sweat-dampened hair. He loves the way their bodies fit so perfectly against one another – like they were meant to be together – and tries to chase his orgasm to keep Dean from overstimulating; his whimpers are getting louder.

Fortunately, it doesn’t take much longer before Castiel feels the heat pooling in his stomach coming together in a tight knot and with one final thrust deep into Dean, Castiel releases himself along with a loud and content groan that vibrates through his entire body, and paints Dean’s insides with his hot sperm, marking him – claiming Dean as his.

He mirrors Dean’s position and rests his face in the crook of his neck, nuzzling the spot behind his ear.

They sit like that for quite some time, blissed-out and basking in the afterglow of their orgasms. Just breathing, enjoying the other’s closeness and body heat, Castiel’s now soft cock still seated inside Dean, until the sticky mess between them starts to dry and get uncomfortable and Dean’s breathing evens out, indicating that he’s fallen asleep.

It’s messy, filthy, intimate and perfect. And Castiel loves it.

____

The next morning, they had to be ready to be led to the front again, preparing themselves for weeks without any real sleep or rest and gunfire, death, and screams.

Castiel hasn’t been able to talk to Dean ever since they cleaned up, got dressed and left for the camps that night.

That was four days ago.

And during all that time, Castiel merely managed to return Dean’s smile once and meet his gaze a few times.

Now he has no idea where Dean is and he’s looking for ways out of this dilemma as more troops storm the field and the gunfire increases.

There is no exit, just the wall of a building that can barely shield them from what’s going on right here. He should run, he knows that, but he tries looking for Dean one more time. _If he’s dead…_

Castiel isn’t able to bring that train of thought to an end – and even if he could, he’d rather not – because he hears the shots a millisecond before two hit his leg and shred his calf. He’s about to turn around when even more shots follow – _one, two, three, four… five, six and seven_ – and he just stands there and waits for the inevitable, _death_ , to happen, but there’s nothing. No pain, except for the one at his leg, no death. And then something – someone – heavy slumps against his back and he’s almost pushed to the ground when he manages to turn around and catch the person in his arms.

The man’s body is rigid and blood is oozing out of several wounds; two at his sides, probably a damaged kidney, one at his shoulder, and one in the middle of his torso, right underneath his chest.

It takes only a few seconds for Castiel to analyze the damage, but it takes him almost an eternity to recognize the person. First, it’s his hands, calloused and big, but he knows how gentle they can be, how warm they feel. Then Castiel tries to go for denial and tells himself that there could be other people with the same hands, so he goes for the face.

The pale, emotionless face. Those green eyes fixed on him, his lips in a tight smile; a sad one. A smile that says he’s content about something, but won’t ever be happy about it. The freckles stand out even more now that his face is almost white.

At first, it’s pure adrenaline that makes him move out of harm's way and hide behind the wall, propping Dean up against it with his back, and then its pure shock that makes him try to stop the blood-flow, pressing his right hand to the wound in his chest and his left to the ones at his side.

And now that he has time to breathe, Castiel feels that he can’t. He tries to, really hard, but ends up choking on air and tears and his own sobs as he shakes Dean’s limp body, crying out his name past the lump in his throat that threatens to suffocate him. “Dean!” He shakes harder, “Dean!”

He watches as recognition passes Dean’s features and his eyes start to focus on his again. “Cas.”

More tears spill down his face and Castiel’s entire body wracks with violent sobs as he leans in closer to Dean. “Why’d you do it?! It was supposed to be me! It was supposed to be me…”

“I’d do…” Dean blinks once, then tries again and Castiel sees the blood in his mouth. “I’d do everything for you.” Dean’s eyes fill with tears and Castiel feels like he’s breaking apart and every word coming from Dean is his undoing. “You’re ev’ryth’n…” Castiel cries so hard that, when he tries to frame Dean’s face in his hands, he at first misses it completely, then manages to cup his cheeks with his bloody palms. “I love you, Cas.” The ‘C’ of his name wracks Dean’s whole frame and he tries to smile but he’s too week and all he does is twist his lips in a painful way, and then dark blood gushes out of his mouth, dripping down his chin and dropping onto his uniform.

“Dean!” Another fit of sobs ripples through him. “Dean, please… please. This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen! You were gonna live! You were gonna take me home! You were gonna live… please, Dean… don’t leave me, please! Please!”

“You’re g’nna come home, Cas.” He sputters and more blood comes oozing out of his mouth. “Tell S’mmy… Tell him I’ve found th’one.” Dean gathers enough strength to lift his arm and is about to reach Castiel’s face when suddenly, he goes completely still and his arm drops back to his side, the specks of gold in his eyes – through which Castiel used to be able to see Dean’s kind and bright soul – gone and all there’s left is the memory of its former vibrancy.

Castiel screams.

He doesn’t know how long he screams, just that, even to himself, it’s the most hurtful and soul-tearing sound he’s ever witnessed.

Castiel screams while he hugs Dean’s dead body to his own and clings to him like he’s hanging on for dear life, and really; he is.

Castiel screams because he can feel that the warmth which usually radiates off of Dean is fading and leaving behind a cold corpse without its precious soul within.

Castiel screams because the love of his life got taken away from him before he even had the chance to tell Dean that he felt like that.

He just screams.

And sometime during all this, Castiel can feel hands pulling on him, a voice – Benny’s – calling out to him. But he doesn’t feel his touch, doesn’t hear what he’s saying. It’s like Castiel’s not even attached to his body, just witnessing this whole situation from far away.

He keeps screaming.

A part of him wonders how there’s even any voice left to his screams; his throat feels like it’s on fire, but then it feels like nothing at all compared to the bone-crushing, deafening sound of his own agony and the fist-sized gaping hole in his chest that used to be the place where his heart kept pounding life into his veins, but is now tearing at his soul and ripping him apart and destroying all there was that Castiel thought life was worth living for. There used to be a place where Castiel kept all the love for this particular man, and only ever him – always – locked up inside him and safe.

It’s gone now. The love, the joy, the happiness.

Now there’s pain, and grieve, and guilt.

_It was supposed to be me._

_I love you too._

Dean never got to hear him say that. Dean never really knew how Castiel felt about him… and now he’s dead and Castiel will never be able to say that he loves him so much, that every time he just so much as smiles, Castiel’s heart swells to the point where it hurts. He’ll never be able to tell him how much he loves his freckles, that he thinks he’s the smartest man he knows, even though he keeps calling him an idiot. He’ll never be able to tell Dean that he’s the most amazing man he’s ever met, the strongest, the most beautiful, kind, loyal and purest soul. He’ll never be able to tell Dean that even though his jokes aren’t funny at all, Castiel will still laugh because it’s Dean who’s telling them and his smile can light a room like the sun never could.

He’ll never be able to voice all that.

It’s fucking unfair.

So he screams.

Until Benny isn’t just shaking him anymore, but pulling him away from Dean. Castiel listens now, tries to make sense of what is being said.

“…before anything else happens. Cas, please! Come on, brother. He’s dead. If you die now, his death was for nothing.”

Benny’s voice breaks at the end of the sentence and Castiel knows the Cajun just lost his childhood friend – his brother. He feels sorry for him, but then he realizes that he’s still screaming and remembers why, and he can’t be sorry for anyone else anymore.

 _He_ lost Dean. _He_ lost the love of his life.

And then Benny is gripping his arms and starting to pull him away, putting distance between him and Dean while dragging him towards the medics.

He screams for an entirely different reason now.

____

It’s been two weeks now since he woke up in the infirmary with a freshly operated leg. The doctors said that they’ve seen worse and that he should be able to walk again in no time with just enough therapy and will-power.

So he’s going to.

In those two weeks, Castiel managed to work up to crutches and leave the wheelchair. He wishes Dean would’ve been there.

But he’s patient. And if the troops are busy, Castiel will have enough time to recover fully and surprise him.

Still, it would’ve been nice to have a friendly face by his side, keep him company. He misses Dean, his smile, his jokes. He dreams of him almost every night. Of his smile, his eyes. They are good dreams, but sometimes they’re also nightmares and he dreams of Dean dying again and again. It pulls at something dull inside him.

____

Another two weeks pass and Castiel starts to worry.

He’s able to walk on his own now and he thinks Dean would be proud of him. That makes him smile. Somehow that feels wrong on his face; like it doesn’t belong there. But Castiel has no idea why.

And then Benny visits. He brings flowers and he talks to Castiel for a few hours, about their comrades, their proceedings and he tells him that as soon as he feels up to it, Castiel is allowed to go home. For good this time.

He’ll finally be free.

But then he thinks about Dean and he knows he can’t leave without him, _won’t_ leave without him. Dean told him _they_ ’d go home.

And while Benny talks, Castiel hums and nods occasionally to show that he’s listening, but he’s really not and wonders why Benny is even here. The Cajun never had a real conversation with him before, it was always Dean who brought them together.

And that’s why, out of the blue, Castiel blurts: “where’s Dean?” and cuts Benny off mid-sentence. The Cajun looks at him with a puzzled expression, as if he’s grown two heads, so he explains: “you know, I’ve been here for four weeks, and I didn’t hear of him once.” At Benny’s intense gaze, Castiel looks down at his hands, folded in his lap. “At first, I thought it was because you guys were busy at the front. But now you’re here and you seem to be okay, but Dean’s still not visited and I’m starting to be very worried about him. So… have you seen him lately?”

Castiel looks up from his lap and meets Benny’s stare and is momentarily surprised to see tears streaming down his face.

But then all the color leaves Benny’s face and Castiel feels how his own face does the same, and then there’s this lump in his throat that has been there since the day he woke up, but now it’s growing and cutting off his air.

“Is he hurt? Did something happen?”

“Don’t you remember?”

Castiel wants to say something like _‘if I did, would I be asking stupid questions?’_ but the lump in his throat threatens to choke him and no words pass through, so he just stares at Benny with desperate eyes to clarify that he, indeed, doesn’t remember what he _should_ be remembering.

The Cajun grimaces, screwing his eyes shut and pressing a tear out of his eye, pinching the bridge of his nose as if in distress. The silence is deafening and not knowing what happened to Dean is driving him mad; he feels like he can’t breathe. But then Benny drops his hand and his eyes are red-rimmed and Castiel has never seen the man crying, so he knows that it can’t be good. His pulse quickens and his breathing increases, but he feels like he’s not taking in any oxygen; like his heart is in his throat.

“Dean?” It’s croaked out and his voice is so rough, that it’s barely a whisper but Benny hears it nevertheless; his face distorting into something pained.

“He’s dead, Cas.”

Then there’s this soul-wracking ringing in his ears, the reverberations – at least that’s how it feels for Castiel – rippling through his core and for a moment, all there is… is nothing. He doesn’t see black and he doesn’t see white; it’s just nothing.

But Benny rips him out of it, shakes him hard and calls his name. Somehow this all seems way too familiar.

“Don’t you remember?” _No_. “He died four weeks and two days ago.”

Castiel shakes his head, trying to keep himself from falling apart by being in denial but failing miserably.

“He got shot.”

He shakes his head again, “no.”

“He threw himself in front of those bullets to save your life, Cas.”

It can’t be real… so he shakes his head again, says “no,” a bit louder, a bit firmer. His hands are clenched at his sides and his nails dig into the skin of his palms, drawing blood. Castiel wishes it would hurt worse.

“Cas, Dean is dead. How don’t you remember?”

And then he screams. Again. He remembers it now. As the well-known fire in his lungs aflames once more, as his ears ring with the agonizing cry and as the pain of losing Dean tears his soul apart again… as it all comes back to life.

“Those were dreams – no; nightmares. It was just a dream. The same one every night. Just a dream. A–a nightmare about my greatest fears. It can’t be real… it can’t!” He breaks down, crumbles to the floor and cries so hard, he thinks he might suffocate because of it.

Benny crouches down beside him and places a hand on his shoulder, trying to soothe him, but all it does is remind Castiel of Dean; of his hands – warm and big but delicate – and he lets out a scream again.

Castiel is certain that it is possible to die of heartache because he feels like that his happening to him.

“He can’t be dead! He can’t be!” He still feels Dean’s touch, his breath ghosting across his skin, causing goosebumps on his body. Castiel still feels the brush of Dean’s lips against his own, his warm body pressed tightly to his. And he still feels safe just thinking about it, while at the same time those memories are breaking him apart.

“If… if he’s dead… if Dean’s dead… that means–” a sob wrecks his body and he has to stop. “It means I killed him. It means he’s dead because of me…” Castiel can’t bear the thought, but it’s the truth and it’s killing him. “He died because I was being stupid…” _a reckless idiot._

“Cas, you can’t blame yourself for something you had no say in.”

“How?! It was supposed to be me… because I didn’t run. I was supposed to be dead, not Dean! I was…” he cries again. “I wish I was.”

Suddenly, Benny’s grip on his shoulder tightens and the Cajun turns him around so that they face each other, slapping his other hand against Castiel’s cheek to get his attention.

“You don’t know the whole story, okay. Listen to me, you’re not the one to blame for his death, he chose this, Cas. Dean chose you.” _Over his own life…_ “Do you remember what happened the night before we had to be at the front again?”

Castiel nods absentmindedly, already thinking about the best night of his life. He’s never been happier.

Another sob escapes him.

“He told me… that night, he came back crying, the whole time. And I couldn’t sleep because I was right next to him, so I talked to him, tried to coax him to tell me what was wrong. And then Dean told me about the best night of his life, he talked about how much he loved you but that he was too chicken to tell you and he was so happy, kept smiling this whole time, so I didn’t understand why he was crying and Dean said he’s never felt more loved before and repeated that it was the best night of his life and that he would give anything to do it again if he just had more time…”

Benny looks at him with soft, regretful and sad eyes, and Castiel tries to understand what Dean could’ve meant, but ends up with nothing. He couldn’t have known that he’d die a few days later…

“You’re the only person Dean ever loved and you meant so much to him that he asked me not to tell you, but you deserve to know this, Cas…” he takes a deep breath and adverts his eyes. “Did Dean ever tell you about Mary?”

Castiel searches his memories, then nods his head.

“Then you know she died of cancer when Dean was just a kid.”

_Brain tumor._

“He told me he’s been worried for quite some time now; always plagued by headaches and nose-bleeding…” He meets Castiel’s eyes again and continues: “The first day we got back to camp, he visited a doctor. Dean said they told him that he’s got an advanced brain tumor and that even if it would’ve been found earlier, he would most likely have ended up like his mom… they said it was hereditary.”

Now Castiel cries because of an entirely different reason.

“He wouldn’t have had very long, Cas. Dean knew he was gonna die and by saving you he did something good with it… you and Sam, you were the most important people in his life.” Benny taps his cheek again. “You didn’t kill him Cas; cancer did. And even if it hadn’t, Dean would’ve given his life for you in a heartbeat anyway.”

The weight of it all crushes Castiel like a fly and he slumps into Benny’s arms with a “he’s dead, Benny,” and lets out sob after painful sob.

“I know.”

“I never got to tell him that I love him… so much… so much it hurts…”

“He knew, Cas. He knew.” Maybe Castiel will cry himself to death… “He knew…”

____

_‘You’ll come back with me; home.’_

_‘You’re gonna live with Sam and Jess…’_

____

The car stops in front of a big, two-story house, in front of it a nice yard with freshly mown grass and a few flowers. It wasn’t anything extra special, but Castiel can picture Dean mowing grass and sitting in the front porch at night, stargazing...

The thought hurts too much, so Castiel stops it in its tracks and opens his door, closing it again after he left the car. The walk towards the dark green front door seems to take hours and Castiel has to brace himself for what is coming before he gathers up all his strength and knocks on it, rapping the knuckles of his fist against the wood.

Just a few moments later, a beautiful tall woman with a bright smile and blonde curls opens the door, holding a baby in her arms and taking a step out of the house. It’s only then that her smile falters and she takes in the figure in front of her.

Castiel knows he looks like a mess. The bags underneath his eyes are so dark that it doesn’t look healthy anymore, his eyes are almost hollow, his smile doesn’t last a millisecond and his shoulders are slumped. He’s the walking definition of grieve.

Her eyes linger at the patches of his uniform, and then she steps back inside the house and cranes her neck, calling out: “Sam!” When she looks back at him, her eyes are glassy and she can’t meet his gaze.

All Castiel can think about right now is that Dean never gets to see his beautiful niece.

“Jess, who’s–”

Behind her, a tall man with floppy brown hair and hazel eyes emerges; Castiel can see the familiarities in the brothers’ faces, even though their eyes are different.

Jessica retreats into the house and now it’s just Castiel and a speechless Sam, looking at him with disbelieving, horrified eyes.

“S-Sam Winchester?” Castiel’s voice trembles and he internally snaps at himself to keep his shit together; this is not about him. This is about a man that just lost his brother, his father figure and best friend.

Sam merely nods, unable to move like he’s frozen to the spot; afraid every oh so little motion will pop his bubble of happiness.

“I’m so very sorry to…” He has to fight this lump in his throat once more, meeting Sam’s shocked expression.

“Please don’t say he’s dead…” the younger Winchester pleads, his voice deep and trembling. “Please tell me that my brother’s alive… please….” Silent tears start trailing down Sam’s face and Castiel has to fight the urge to look away and cry himself.

“I-I’m here to inform you… that,” Sam’s shoulders are shaking now, tears running freely and Castiel fights everything inside him to stop himself from breaking down in front of Dean’s brother. He tries again, voice more determined. “I’m here to inform you that Dean Winchester has fallen in war.”

“Oh, God…” Sam cries out and falls to the wooden floor, his knees hitting the ground, and buries his face in his hands to stifle the sound of his pain. And that’s just it for Castiel, who breaks down again, crying with Sam, even though the man has no idea who the hell he is. Castiel just stands there, chin on his chest and shoulders shaking as he lets go.

Jessica comes back out after a while, without the baby, and throws herself around Sam, hugging him and trying to calm him down. She’s crying as well, but she tries to be strong for her love.

Castiel has no idea how long they remain like this; it feels like ages. So when Sam finally gets to his feet again – Jessica rubbing his back and arm – he looks at Castiel, devastated, and asks: “di-did you know him?”

_I loved him, Sam._

“He’s been very important to me, yes.”

“How’d it happen? Do you know why?”

Castiel swallows guiltily – he still feels like that, even after what Benny told him – and croaks out: “Dean was shot to death, he died of organ failure and exsanguination.” _How?_ “He threw himself in front of those bullets to save my life… Dean died a few minutes after that.” _In my arms._

Sam manages a small smile, still a sad one, and says, regretfully: “That sounds like something Dean would do. You had to be important to him as well, then.”

Castiel ignores the jab of pain in his gut and whispers: “yeah…”, then blinks away fresh tears. “H-he wanted me to tell you something, Sam.” He takes a shaky breath and continues: “Before he died, D-Dean wanted me to tell you… ‘he’s found the one’.”

When Castiel lifts his head to meet Sam’s eyes again, he sees something like recognition cross them and then new tears gather and Sam smiles a happy smile, even though he starts crying once more. “You’re Castiel…”

He merely nods his head, too weak to use his voice. And then Sam is crushing him against his chest, engulfing Castiel in a tight hug and squeezing as his tears dampen the collar of Castiel’s uniform.

With a teary voice, Sam says: “He’s written so much about you in his letters. I feel like I know you… it’s weird.”

Castiel snorts a laugh and it’s the first time that just the slightest positive expression passes his features; the muscles in his face feel stiff.

He pictures Dean writing those letters to Sam and bombarding him with a little bit too-explicit and cheerful details about everything the two of them have done together. And he pictures Dean bringing his own jokes down on the paper and laughing while he knew Sam would just shake his head and roll his eyes – that’s what Dean told him is Sam’s typical reaction to his jokes; he said Sam was too smart to find them funny.

Then Castiel smiles. It’s a genuine and small smile and it feels alien on his face, but good nonetheless.

As Sam withdraws, Castiel sniffs once and then the younger Winchester is looking at him with a careful expression.

“Would you like to read them? I mean… you’re part of the family now and since you’ll be moving into Dean’s room, you should also receive what is yours; like those letters. You can also leaf through our family albums and pick out some pictures of him… I’m guessing you don’t have any…?”

Sam’s last question is almost a whisper and Castiel knows he’s trying to not bring up painful memories of Dean, but Castiel realizes that Sam’s type of coping with loss is to talk about it; to tell him about Dean and their childhood and Dean in general. And Castiel thinks that, maybe, this is just exactly what he needs.

So he gives a small smile, just the tug of one corner of his lips, and answers: “Thank you, Sam. I’d love to.”

And that is what they do; they spent the entire night flicking through the small photographs of a teenage Dean and his Dad on a hunt, of a young Dean in a leather jacket that looks just a bit too big for him in front of a black sports car – a ‘67 Chevrolet Impala; Sam tells him it’s Dean’s ‘Baby’ and that his Dad gave her to him for graduation before he died in an accident – Dean and Sam preparing a ‘major’ prank on Jo, which backfired tremendously because they didn’t expect that Jo planned on their prank and led them into a trap. And that is why, while he cries about the death of the love of his life during all those happy memories, he also cries with laughter.

Later in Dean’s bed, in Dean’s room and surrounded by Dean’s scent, Castiel went through all the letters and cried until he couldn’t decipher any of the written words on the paper and had to calm down again, only to repeat that until early in the morning.

It was the first night Castiel didn’t dream about Dean dying. He dreamed that he was planting new vegetables into their small garden in the back while Dean watched him with a smile. In this dream, Dean’s skin was tanned and freckles adorned every uncovered inch of skin and his vibrant green eyes sparkled gold whenever the sunlight caught in them.

Castiel found his place.

He is a Winchester now and a part of the family. And he’s not only a part of it, he feels like it; feels like he’s gone home to the place he always belonged to.

Thanks to Dean.

Castiel keeps Dean with him all the time; carries him in his heart, in his memory, and every breath he takes and every decision he makes is because of him.

He believes Benny now; Dean did know Castiel loved him like nothing else – Castiel read it in his letters.

And Castiel will keep on loving Dean – the love of his life; his everything – forever.

He’s found the one.


End file.
